“Land speculation, eh?”
“Not a speculation at all,” was the prompt reply. “A certainty! Littleham, please oblige me with that plan.”
Mr. Littleham produced an architect’s roll from his pocket. His companion spread it out upon the desk before Jacob and drew an imitation gold pencil from his pocket.
“All along here,” he explained, tapping upon the plan, “is a common, sloping gently towards the south. The views all around are wonderful. The air is superb. There are five hundred acres of it. Here,” he went on, tapping a round spot, “is a small town, the name of which we will not mention for the moment. The Great Central expresses stop here. The journey to town takes forty minutes. That five hundred acres of land can be bought for twenty thousand pounds. It can be resold in half-acre and acre lots for building purposes at a profit of thirty or forty per cent.”
“The price of the land, if it is according to your description, is low,” Jacob remarked. “Why?”
Mr. Dane Montague flashed an excellently simulated look of admiration at his questioner.
“That’s a shrewd question, Mr. Pratt,” he confessed. “We are going to be honest and aboveboard with you. The price is low because the Urban Council of this town here”—tapping on the plan—“will not enter into any scheme for supplying lighting or water outside the three-mile boundary.”
“Then what’s the use of the land for building?” Jacob demanded.